


Lest He Falls

by FragMinded



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FragMinded/pseuds/FragMinded
Summary: Following the events of "White Horseman, Take Me Home", Dean finds himself without a path and with little hope for his future. However, with an idea from Crowley and aided by Kevin and Cass, the Winchester may yet be able to earn his peace. Sam finds himself in an unfamiliar place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~A/N: After a few battles over whether or not I should continue the events of "White Horseman, Take Me Home" I've decided to just go ahead with it. Unlike before, I am trying to get back in the habit of going through several days of editing before posting and making sure it's as polished as I can get it on my own. I'm not sure, yet, how many chapters this will have but I do have a skeleton outline for how I want this to play out. Thank you all for your patience with me as I try to work on my writing. As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. Love always, **Frag**. ~
> 
> ~DISCLAIMER: I own nothing relating to Supernatural, its stories, or its characters and all work presented here is purely for general entertainment.~

The morning was as lovely as any day could get. The skies held nary a cloud and the sun shone bright as it started its climb from the horizon. The breeze coming down from the north insisted that it was brisk enough to warrant an extra layer beyond a shirt but it wasn't uncomfortable. The woods were alive around him; birds singing as various creatures skittered about beneath them. If it had been under any other circumstances, Dean would be enjoying himself.

A woodpecker in the tree directly to his left grabbed his attention and he stood there, dumbly mesmerized by it. Birds weren't his forte and he'd always imagined woodpeckers to resemble the cartoon version he grew up watching. This one had no tuft of red atop its head, but instead a fading streak of red starting at the beak and ending at its back. It turned and look down at him, watching him closely for a minute or two. Feeling secure that he was no threat, the bird started back at the tree and it felt like every peck was also being drilled into his head.

_If only…_Dean thought dimly before returning to his task.

Finding the last few branches he needed, he hefted them up under his arm and made his way back to the small clearing. The leaves broke beneath his feet and made his approach a little louder than it should have been. Not that it mattered. He'd made sure he set up where there was absolutely no chance anyone would happen upon him. On the off chance someone did, it would be a very bad day for them.

Careful not to disturb the other branches he'd laid against the foundation of the funeral pyre, he put his new acquisitions in bare locations and stood back to make sure he didn't need any more. No. He had plenty. He was ready to start.

If he could convince himself to.

Dean realized then that he'd left the lighter fluid in the back of the Impala and chalked his foul up to having any reason to postpone. Sighing deeply, he meandered passed the stack of wood and brush, very careful not to look at the figure wrapped in a white sheet on top, and went over to his car.

As he grew closer, he could hear muffled groaning coming from inside his trunk. Man, this was so not what he needed right now. Using enough force to get his point across without denting the car, he pounded on the side of the trunk and listened, with satisfaction, as the groan quieted. That would be a can of worms he'd have to deal with eventually but not now. Definitely not now.

The lighter fluid had fallen from the back seat and onto the floor. A duffle had landed partially on top of it. Dean stopped as he reached for the duffle, unable to bring himself to touch it, much less move it. It made him feel childish to be worried about man-handling his brother's bag but he couldn't bring himself to do it. His eyes closed softly at an exhale, head involuntarily swinging from side to side. In agitated compromise with himself, he grabbed the bottle and wiggled it out from underneath the bag.

The grumbling started up again as he closed the back door, patting his pockets to make sure he had a lighter or at least some matches. The first few pats produced no results and he began to wonder if he'd left them in the front of the car. One hand settled on the front passenger door and green eyes scanned the front seat to check if his suspicions were correct, while his other hand continued to check pockets. Ah, there they were. He pulled a book of motel matches from the inner pocket of his jacket and replaced them in his pants pocket. Dean turned to look at the trunk as the vocal complaints turned to banging. Rolling his eyes, he maneuvered the bottle to under his arm so he had the use of both hands to open the trunk.

"Really?" He asked, as the lid lifted; his mouth fixed in as hard a line as his eyes were narrow.

Trying to free himself from his hog-tied position, the former King of Hell wiggled around, rubbing his cheek against the floor of the trunk to try and slide the tape from his mouth. Dean leaned down and, with minimal glee, ripped the tape off of Crowley's face.

"Ouch!" The demon shook his head and gazed up at his captor, eyes red and not in the demon way.

"Keep kicking my car, Crowley, and you're gonna find out what it means to be road-hauled…." Dean's voice was flat, his threat hollow.

"Wouldn't need to if you'd offer more considerate accommodations."

"Yeah, not happening." Dean moved to put the tape back on his mouth, resulting in the demon pulling his head back as far as he could in what little space he had.

"Wait!" Crowley sighed. "Don't I deserve some modicum of respect? I may have been an unwilling participant but I _did_ help you boys _almost_ close the gates of hell…"

Dean just stared. Irrational or no, as far as he was concerned, Crowley was in ways responsible for what had happened. It was only the smallest inclination that having the King of Hell as a prisoner would prove useful that kept him from ending the miserable bastard.

"Not that it was _my_ fault you couldn't pull it off. And Moose had been _so _rea-" Crowley was cut short by an abrupt blow to the face. Dean hadn't intended to but the moment he mentioned Sam, the first spark of resentment in days flared and then had faded as quickly as it had come. He didn't even feel good about punching Crowley. Didn't feel bad about it either, though.

Crowley made a point of spitting blood out onto the upholstery, fixing Dean with a glare. Something in his face must of made the former question his arrogance, because the demon's face softened. He leaned down and put the tape back over Crowley's mouth without uttering another word and slammed the trunk shut. There was no more groaning or kicking.

Patting his jeans for the matches again out of habit, he paused for a moment at the back of his car, catching sight of where the initials carved into the back dash were hidden. His heart clenched and he had to fight to turn his attention away. That battle was lost. He allowed himself a few moments to remember the day they'd decided to maim Dad's car while he was away. How big the knife had looked in Sammy's hands. He'd long since forgotten why they had done it but here, in this instant, he was damn glad they had.

Dean didn't know when he'd rested against the trunk, his weight heavy on his hands. The memories left wet spots that interrupted a thin layer of pollen and dust that had settled on the car. It took him some time to relax his breathing and for his heart to regain its natural rhythm. He kept his eyes closed for this part. Easier to steady himself. Lips pulled in between his teeth, he nodded in slow pace with his ticker.

Alright. Time to move.

This time, he kept his eyes blind as he turned away from the Impala, only opening them when he knew the only thing in front of him was the pyre.

Dean forced himself to look at the wrapped body on top. It was time. No more delays or distractions. It was now or never, he knew in his heart. And yet he couldn't bring himself to even soak the wood in the liquid. He discovered he couldn't even move. The massive figure on top captivated every ounce of his attention. His chest was no longer hollow as he looked the sheet over, one side to the other.

"You stupid, son of a…" Dean started. "You didn't have to…" Head slouching from the weight he felt, he closed his eyes and pulled his lips back, trying very hard to keep his chin from trembling. To no avail.

Moving of its own volition, his hand rested on the chest of his little brother. How stiff and lifeless he was seemed too surreal for Dean; like a bad dream he knew he'd wake up from eventually…but couldn't. As many times as they'd come back before, he half-expected to feel the chest heave beneath his touch, Sam gasping for air and getting laid back out flat by big brother for leaving in the first place. But nothing happened.

"I could have saved you, Sammy…if you had let me. Why didn't you let me?" Each word further broke the already fissured dam in his mind and more leaks ran down his cheek, impeded by the overgrowth of stubble left uncared for.

"We were always supposed to be there for each other!" Dean had started to yell, or at least endeavored to through the tightness in his throat. "You were no more a burden to me than I was to you! That's what family is! We fight, we bitch, we move on!" His hand balled into a fist but moved no further, animosity dying as his brother had; slowly.

"It wasn't supposed to be you, Sammy…" Dean's words were barely there. Swaying as if a gentle breeze would be all it took to fell him, the older brother leaned lightly on the younger. "And I left you. I should have been there. I should never have gone with Cass. I should never have left you there, alone, to think that you were _ever_ a disappointment to me…"

Dean looked upward for a second, using one weak hand to wipe the various fluids from his face before turning to look at the head of the sheet. "How could I let you think that…?"

The sentiment was starting to drain, as it usually did with the last remaining Winchester, and he shook his head with a sniffle to further aid its regression.

"I am so sorry, Sam. And I never told you…" His heart welled for the briefest of moments with both the unabashed love he had for his brother and the overpowering grief he felt at losing him.

"How could you _choose_ to leave...?" Dean spoke tenderly. The hand that had found its way to his brother's chest originally he left where it was but, out of respect, he pulled himself away from Sam and stood tall again, his composure mostly intact.

"He didn't choose to leave…" Off to his right and behind him, he heard the unmistakable voice of Death. "He just chose not to stay."

Dean dropped his head but didn't turn around. "Is there a difference?"

"Quite. Do you honestly think Sam wouldn't have fought me tooth and nail if there were other, less possessive, options to bring him back?"

The son of a bitch had a point and he hated that. Without turning completely, he lifted his head so he could see the man…reaper…talking to him.

"What do you want?"

"To check on you." Dean scoffed. Death paid no mind. "And to make sure you do what needs to be done."

Yeah, there it was. Can't bring his brother back if his body's been reduced to ash and soot. Death had come to make sure he wasn't going to weasel his way out. Though, at this point in time, he had no idea where he'd even start to do so. How do you bring back someone who chose to die in the first place? And had Death, of all things, keeping their soul under lock and key? He had nothing. He knew he had nothing. So why was he still hesitating to burn Sam?

"I know I need to…I just…I can't…" Speaking more to himself than to Death, he turned back to face the pyre and tried to rationalize the situation. If nothing else, this is what his brother would want. Couldn't he at least give him that? _I would_, he objected, _if I wasn't so damned pissed with him. _He may have stowed his bullshit to give his little brother's final moments some peace but deep down, he still couldn't wrap his head around why Sam had just given up like he did.

No. He didn't give up. How many times had Dean said that Sam would be better off without _him_? And how many times had he been too hard on his little brother, beating him down about the shit he'd done and reminding him over and over again about the times he'd messed up? Right before the youngest Winchester went into the church, his big brother laid out several of his mistakes for use in the confessional. But what was Sam's greatest transgression? Letting Dean down. His throat became dry as his cheeks grew moist with the warm tears that had fallen, unbidden, at the thought. Was he really mad at Sam or was he mad at himself for pushing his baby brother to think so little of himself?

This was too much. He didn't know anymore. And it was beyond his current emotional range to process anything except for the 'now.' So he pushed the thoughts as far back into his abyss as he could; to be chewed on at home over a bottle of whiskey.

"Dean?" Death mused. "You're stalling."

"Yeah, just give me a damn minute…" He shot back. He _was_ stalling. But he'd also be damned if he was going to let Death harass him into doing it any faster than he deemed necessary. Stretching his hand back out of a fist, he patted Sammy's chest and nodded, both to his brother and to himself. As he backed up and handled the fluid, he forced himself to close up shop; his grief, anger, dread, all of it…boxed, chained and sealed away. At least for now.

He hadn't noticed Death step up beside him initially and he tried to pretend like he still didn't notice as he drenched the wood. The bottle was empty by the time he'd finished so he threw it at the base and grabbed the matches from his pocket. It took him a second to light them but when he did, he faltered. Death cast him a side glance that he ignored as he lifted the fire that would finalize the greatest loss he would ever have to withstand.

_This isn't goodbye, Sammy…_Dean acknowledged with a false sense of security. _We'll meet again in Heaven and I'm going to kick your ass._

He threw the matches forward.

The fire sparked, spat and rose as it ignited the streams of lighter fluid. He watched the flames dance around, growing in intensity, as they finally made their way up to his brother's body. Every fiber in his being wanted to look away, but he didn't. Watching Sammy burn was as much as he deserved. _This_ was his punishment.

Neither Dean nor the reaper spoke at first and it was making him uncomfortable that Death had stuck around. No way in hell was he trying to be sympathetic. And no way in hell did he want his support even if that were the case. But the silence was making him uneasy and he really just wanted to be alone.

"Can I..uh…help you with something?" His words were timid but came through gritted teeth. Out of character for Dean but his energy was beyond spent. Wanting nothing more than to finish here and go back to the bunker to shower, drink, and sleep...not necessarily in that order…it was irritating him that he felt the need to stay until the horseman had retreated. Odd sense of respect and all that.

"Just being thorough."

Dean couldn't believe what he'd heard. His ass started showing.

"Yeah, ok, _this_ is a body I want my brother to return to. 'Hiya, Sam! Brought you back. Nevermind the BBQ I had with your corpse. Your skin should grow back in..oh…let's say…_never_…' "

"Cute, Dean, but I promised your brother and I make good on my promises."

"Great, now you sound like Crowley…" The Winchester muttered under his breath. Though the pointed glare Death gave him was enough to knock his sarcasm down a notch. Dean backpedaled.

"Look, I'm sorry…Death…I just don't know what you expect me to do. Obviously I can't bring my brother back and to be real damn honest, I'm not even sure where to go from here."

Death gave him a contemplative look and was quiet for a moment. Dean hadn't meant to open his trap that much but, too late now.

"I'd think your plate was pretty full." Death tilted his head slightly.

"What? The angels?" Dean asked. "What in the hell am I supposed to do about that?"

"The angels…your friend, Castiel, is human now…and that Knight of Hell is still out and about. You've got your hands full, Dean Winchester."

Dean blinked for a moment and weighed the words spoken. Cass. That was right. How long had it been since he called him? Two days now? And wait…Knight of Hell? He observed Death warily through narrowed eyes, cocking his head back.

"Abbadon? No, she was holy oil deep fried in that church."

"And how many demons have you killed with holy oil? A Knight of Hell is not so easily vanquished. Besides.." Death turned to start leaving. "If one of the last Knights of Hell had died, don't you think I'd know?"

"Wait…" Dean started after the reaper, hating himself for showing any sign of fragility but a last ditch attempt couldn't hurt. Death was ahead of him.

"No, Dean. You don't need your brother. You have your pet and I do believe the King of Hell is in your trunk. Use what you have…" Death turned his back on the desperate man and added softly "Besides, Sam was right. You're a lot stronger than you allow yourself to believe."

Death left those words hanging in the air and Dean unable to swallow them. The minutes dragged by as he stood there, staring into nothing and considering what he had been told.

Everything was on him to fix? Yeah, good luck with that. The world would be lucky if Dean got out hunting again any time soon. First things first, though. He _did _need to find Cass. He'd lost Sam. He wasn't going to lose his best friend too.

Dean shook his head, ridding himself of all thought, and turned back to the fire; ready to stand vigilant over his brother one last time.

* * *

It was midafternoon by the time the fire had started to die down. Between the flames and the sun, the air had started to warm and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Everything in him had gone quiet. Not one emotion surfaced. His thoughts were swaying between desolation and Cass. No desires, no physical wants or needs. Dean Winchester couldn't remember the last time he felt this numb.

He knew it wouldn't last, though. It never did. Eventually, all this shit he was pushing down would erode the bulwark of his bravado, little by little, until he was no longer able to just keep pushing forward. But until that time came, he'd do just that: keep pushing forward.

The thoughts of Cass took over everything and he narrowed his eyes, reflecting upon his options. Precedence went to finding him, obviously. The phone call had him days away. Of course, it had been days since the phone call. Cass had used a pay phone so he couldn't just call him to ask him where he was. Praying was no use, he was human now. How would he…?

Dean's eyes diverted to the Impala as an idea as hopeful as it was stupid tugged at him. Might as well try.

The fire was just embers now though he didn't have the heart to dump dirt on them to kill them completely. Feeling safe enough to leave the clearing without Smokey the Bear on his ass, he made his way over to the Impala, started to open the trunk and found it curious how quiet it still was.

The door swung upwards and the demon blinked into the sun as it rushed in at him. Dean stood over him, hands on his hips, just staring. Was this really worth it? Letting this piece of shit out into the wind? Crowley was notorious for his double-crossings and if he didn't find Cass and bring him back, then Dean would have to hunt them BOTH down. This red-eyed asshole wasn't going to let himself be caught twice, of that he had no doubt.

"I need a favor." Dean started, feeling no need to beat around the bush. Either Crowley was going to help him or he wasn't. Dean didn't sugar-coat, unlike Sam…

His mind cut the thought quick and clean, like a guillotine and his heart skipped a beat at the mental beheading.

Crowley looked suspicious as Dean leaned down and pulled the tape from his mouth for the second time that day. He was as sweaty as the hunter and looking a tad peckish. Guess he had more human blood than demon in him at the moment. No telling how long that would last.

"You? A favor?" Crowley scooted himself so that he could look up at Dean without craning his neck. "Was being your demon sacrifice for the trial not enough?"

"I need you to find Cass and bring him here." Dean spoke as plain as he could but purposely failed to mention the "human" part of Castiel's condition. Crowley would take advantage. Hell, he'd sense it upon finding the trench-coat wearing angel but maybe if the Winchester cut a good enough deal, the bastard would follow through. If nothing else, Crowley was good on his word. He just always had a back door out if it meant saving his own hide.

Considering Hell wanted his hide, maybe a bit of safety would sway the King of the Crossroads Dean's way.

"What for? Bird's got wings." Crowley looked equal parts confused and intrigued.

"Uh, no. Partnership with Metatron went south. Scribe kicked all of the angels out of heaven, Cass included. No wings."

"Really, now? Well, isn't that something…." Crowley's voice trailed and it was obvious that the cogs in his wheel were turning.

"Thought you might also like to know that your girlfriend is still alive and looking for you." Dean fibbed a little. He didn't know if Abbadon gave a rat's ass about Crowley but it was a card, so he played it. He'd bet millions on his current poker face.

"Abbadon?" The color in Crowley's face dropped a few shades. Bingo. "Moose torched her…"

Dean closed his eyes at the nickname the demon had for his brother but only for a split second. The impulse to punch him again, however, lingered a little longer than his blink.

"Yeah, but holy oil don't kill demons. Especially Knights of Hell." Before Crowley could interject, Dean added, "Death verified. She's alive."

Yup. Anxiety plain as day danced across the former King of Hell's face and Dean figured he had him right where he wanted him.

"Find Cass, Crowley, and you can hide in the bunker until we get all this sorted out. We do owe you." He fought the urge to correct himself. Until they found Cass, it wasn't _we._ Not anymore.

Crowley didn't speak but he could tell the chained man was thinking. He'd give him a minute.

Dean tried to casually glance back over his shoulder to the clearing and noticed that the smoke had stopped rising now. By the time he turned back to his trunk, the other was watching him intently. It made him feel dirty. He spoke up but found the ground more appropriate to look at than the face of the man tied up in front of him.

"Tick-tock, asshat. I don't have all day." Yeah, he did. He had all the time in the damn world now. And, wow, being an ass really was his shield. Sam used to pick on him for it but that kid could see right through him. Every damn time….

Mentally, he reprimanded himself and focused his attention back on the demon to distract his wandering wistfulness. Dean was still under the full force of Crowley's scrutiny.

"So, I find your little boy-toy angel….and you let me hide in your clubhouse until we figure out how to take out Abbadon?" Crowley asked cautiously.

That wasn't exactly what Dean had said but, whatever, why not?

"Yeah. So deal?"

Crowley regarded Dean carefully for a minute longer before nodding.

"Deal."

"What, no kiss?" Dean shot sarcastically.

"Moose, maybe. Not you."

The Winchester was sure he'd let a look loose then because Crowley recoiled into his bindings.

Dean grabbed Crowley, pulled him from the trunk and leaned him against the side of the car. Satisfied the demon wasn't likely to try to run trussed up as he was, he moved back around to the trunk, lifted the faux bottom and revealed his treasure trove of weapons and other tools of the trade. It took him less than a second to find what he was looking for, pulling the knife out and giving it a good once over. Raising his brow, he moved slowly to stand in front of Crowley, whose attention was very intently keyed in on the demon blade.

"Squirrel.." Crowley backtracked, closing his eyes and dropping his Kingly façade. "Dean….what are you doing?"

Looking from the blade back up to the leech's face, he considered letting him stew in his uncertainty. Although he usually took great pleasure in watching Crowley squirm, all it did now was stall finding Castiel.

"You're gonna find Cass. You try to run or squelch on our deal, you're dead." Dean spoke quietly, without his usual bluster and the demon across from him didn't appear to miss that. He noticed that Crowley was giving him a look that could almost be mistaken for concern. To the hunter's relief, though, he didn't speak.

Turning Crowley so he could get at his binds, he cut the ropes around his arms and undid the chains around his wrists and ankles. When he was done, he shoved him away from the clearing.

"Dean…" Crowley didn't budge, but instead seemed to be staring at something behind him. His face went from concern to…regret? Really?

"Is that…?" Crowley asked meekly. Dean turned to look at what he had inevitably seen; the remains of the pyre off near the center of the trees. Dean nodded despite himself and turned back to warn Crowley off, but he had already vanished.

"Damn it…"

Dean slammed the trunk hard causing Baby to groan. He found he didn't care. That unsettled him just enough that he turned and gave his car a loving pat. Wasn't Baby's fault. No need to take it out on her, he reasoned. In fact, if Crowley didn't, couldn't or wouldn't find Cass, his Impala was all he had left. How did this all happen?

His mind still battled with the "Ifs" and the "Whys" and he battled with his mind to shut it.

"That was an exceedingly simple task to warrant protection from a Winchester." Crowley piped, trying to hide the emotion in his voice and failing.

Dean didn't know what to think about that, but he turned towards the front of his car and saw Crowley there with Cass, who was looking pretty roughed up. Losing his grace and being human didn't seem to settle well with him. Dean walked around to his angelic best friend and gave him the biggest hug he'd ever warranted giving anyone other than his brother.

"Good to see you, Cass…." Dean whispered, a little too eagerly.

"You too, Dean." Cass hugged him back weakly. When they broke it off, Cass's face was tight, his eyes burrowing deep into Dean's soul.

"_A_ Winchester?" Cass' question was heavy with disconcertion.

_Damn it.._. Cass didn't miss much. Thanks, Crowley.

He kept his silence despite wanting to tell Castiel everything that had transpired after he'd left him at the church. Dean also wanted to hear about what had happened with Metatron and Cass after the angels had fallen. Information he'd need to know if he had any chance in reversing this clusterfuck. He didn't immediately notice Crowley had vanished.

"Crow-" He started before catching sight of him near the smoldering ashes. Dean closed his eyes and attempted to prepare himself for the inevitable questions. One of them would ask. Or both. But it was going to happen.

"That's not…" Cass, again, never missed much. He moved around Dean and started to walk towards the clearing. His head was shaking the closer he got. Turning to look at Dean, his eyes were red and wet. "Tell me that that is not…"

Dean wasn't ready for this conversation. He knew that if he did try to tell them, his words would be broken. He could keep on rolling as long as he didn't have to think about, speak of or remember Sammy.

_Shit._

Dean jerked his neck to the left to crack it and pressed his emotions down again. Using their current situation as an excuse to avoid Castiel's observation, he strolled as casually as he could to the driver's side of the car.

"Considering you both have hits out on you, I suggest we take this motley crew back to the bunker." Thinking of the bunker reminded him of the prophet who had been there alone for several days now. _If he hasn't flown the coop…_Dean thought dryly. He'd find out when they got back. "I need to check on Kevin too."

Crowley was already in the back seat. Cass hesitated, looking behind them again. Dean knew Cass wouldn't let this go. He didn't expect him to, though he desperately hoped he would. But now was not the time. They were sitting ducks. No one cared about Dean for a change and he was happy with that knowledge. However, he was aiding and abetting both Heaven and Hell's most wanted. That would make him a target, too, by association. He'd keep his word to Crowley and he would always try to protect Cass. He also had Kevin to worry about. But if an angel or demon or any other creepy-crawly son of a bitch came for _him_? He decided that he didn't care. Let 'em.

After all, what did he have to lose now?

* * *

Sam woke abruptly to the blaring of _Iron Maiden_. Everything was bright. Too bright. Hazel eyes blinked against the onslaught of light as he brought his hands up to guard and rub the sleep from them.

"Morning, Sunshine!" Piped an unusually cheery voice. Sam's vision was still fairly blurry but he knew the image to the side of him was none other than his brother. He'd know the music, the voice and the feeling of the Impala under his rear any day. The window to his right was rolled down and the cool air rushed in as the car sped down the highway.

He felt pretty good despite how rough the day prior had been. He'd have those scratches on his side and arms for a few weeks but the hunt went well. Scars, bruises and breaks were practically how he and his brother clocked in and out of their work day. Joviality brought out the lighter color in his eyes, reflecting the sunlight that brightened his face as he smiled.

Reaching up to run his hand through his hair, a curiosity occurred to him. It felt shorter, for some reason. His hair had been long all his life but to not feel it brushing against his shoulders felt off to him and he'd never had it that long. Jeez, how long had he been out?

"Can you turn that down…" Sam asked knowing full well what was about to happen. Sure enough, Dean nodded his agreeance, leaned over and turned UP the volume. The younger Winchester allowed his smile to widen and he shook his head, plastering a spirited look of exasperation on his face to appease the eldest. One day he'd learn to just turn the damn thing off himself, but, oh well. Dean was in high spirits and that was a rare treat of late. Sam stretched as much as he could in the limited space before glancing over to watch his brother sing along with the music.

Adoration filled him then and the warmth in his chest was welcome. Not that he'd ever profess it out loud for boyish fear of his brother's ribbing, but he _loved_ Dean. Truly and deeply loved his brother. In this moment, he felt it stronger than he had in a long time. Stranger still was he couldn't figure out what brought on the emotion. Sam studied Dean with a grin as he drummed the steering wheel and gave him playful, exaggerated expressions whilst purposefully singing out of tune.

His brother looked so young to him now. Considering Dean was four years his senior, it was an irregular thought to have. Perhaps the prospect of his brother being sent to Hell made his youth even more apparent. Dean didn't deserve that. Melancholy darkened his eyes as they unwillingly became caught in the gaze of green mischievous ones. His older brother clapped a hand on his leg.

"Cut it out, Sammy. You're gonna ruin a beautiful day!" Dean teased and moved to actually turn the music down just a tad. He went back to singing along a little louder than before. Or maybe it only seemed that way because the music was quieter. Either way, Sam found himself unable to pull his thoughts from the dark they'd fallen into.

Dean had just turned the music down at the first hint that something was genuinely wrong with him. He was always looking out for him in subtle and not so subtle ways. And now he was going to Hell, because of him, and Sam couldn't do anything to stop it.

Sam turned to look out the window and the literal darkness and a rather gorgeous full moon took the breath from his chest. The hand on his shoulder further startled him, thought his attention was still captivated by the abrupt change in scenery.

"Whoa, Sam. No more tequila for you…"

Sam tilted his head in sincere bewilderment before turning to look at his brother, who suddenly appeared years older.

"What…Dean…we were just…." Gesturing out the window to where the sun had just been shining, Sam's thoughts were all over the place and he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad had happened. What in the hell was going on? "It was…day..."

"Uh…you alright? We were just at the bar getting wasted, with two lovely ladies I might add, and Bobby called needing help."

_Bobby…._Sam thought. Why did hearing his name bring him equal measures of anguish and relief? He looked down and near jumped when his hair fell into his face. A lot longer than it had been just moments ago. Sam grabbed a few strands and rolled them between his fingers.

_Okay…._

"Seriously, Sammy, you doin' alright? I mean, I know you can't hold your liquor but uh…." Dean smiled lazily as he ruffled a hand through his brother's hair. "You've never been scared of your own hair before…that's just awesome."

Dean laughed as he hopped from the car, shutting his door and moving around to the front of Singer's Auto. Sam watched him go but did not move to follow him right away.

Perhaps he _was_ just tired and plastered.

His hand found its way to the base of his neck and he put pressure on the muscle there, rolling his head to stretch it out. The younger brother breathed out sharply and nodded to himself, blinking his eyes wide and attempting to shed the oddities of the last few minutes from his mind.

Hesitantly, he pulled himself from the Impala to follow Dean inside. Pure, searing pain gripped his chest, stretching down into his gut and out into his arms. An orange light shimmered beneath his flesh as his sight dimmed and he fell to his knees. Panic made him tremble and stole his voice as he started to call out for his brother. But as soon as it had come about, it was gone.

Sam was shaking and his limbs tingled as he looked around, eyes wide and lips parted to allow larger gulps of breath in to replenish what he'd lost in his alarmed state.

"What the hell...?"


	2. Chapter 2

The ride back to the bunker had been quiet.

For Dean and Cass that wasn't unusual. Aside from the occasional worried glance from the angel, he had not tried to inquire about anything he'd seen back in the woods. Dean was still in no mood to talk. He'd have enough of that to do the moment they walked through the doors if the prophet was still inside.

Far stranger was the quiet that came from Crowley. On any other given day, he'd be making quips about Dean, his relationship with Cass, bringing up the past few days or picking on…on Sam. But Sam wasn't here.

The eldest Winchester had an odd feeling that that particular loss was what kept Crowley mute. He was thankful for it but it did bring about the curiosity of how human the King of Hell had become.

Dean didn't bother parking in the garage. All three piled out of the Impala and walked, in uncomfortable silence, to the front door of the bunker. The demon and angel exchanged glances as Dean pulled out the key, unlocked their sanctuary and filed down the winding staircase to the huge iron door. The hunter went through first, followed by Cass and then by Crowley. The demon closed and locked the door behind them and in just that quick second, Dean found himself dodging an arrow.

Eyes wide with the initial shock and then the relief that it had missed its mark, Dean snatched the sharp projectile from the wall next to his face, lips moving with a line of silent curses.

"Dean?" A trembling voice called from below him. He turned to find Kevin crouching behind an over-turned table with books and other boxes piled next to it in a make-shift fox hole. A crossbow leaned on the table, obviously heavy in the kid's hands.

"A crossbow, Kev, really?" Dean marched down the stairs with clenched fists, his heart still pounding from the scare.

Kevin had started to respond…and then he saw Crowley.

"What in the hell is HE doing here!?" Kevin took aim with the crossbow again, having loaded it quicker than Dean thought possible of the kid.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Dean dropped his bag and ran over to Kevin, wrenching the weapon from his hands.

Crowley leaned against the rail of the stairs, still silent and morose. Cass listed his head to the side, regarding Kevin and then looking at Dean.

"He does beg an excellent question, Dean. Why IS Crowley here?" Cass asked. Dean wanted to just leave them all to their bickering and silence and bullshit and go take a shower. Eyelids slid shut slowly, he pulled his lips between his teeth and thought of how best to proceed. No solution came to mind.

Explaining meant he'd have to tell them about his brother. The clenching of his gut and accompanying stir of nausea informed him that he wasn't quite ready to do that.

"Cass…please explain to these two how your last few days have been. Then I'll talk." Dean gestured sharply in the angel's direction. Cass nodded his compliance.

"Metatron's trials to close the gates of heaven were actually a spell to purge heaven of all angels. The last ingredient was my grace." He looked at Crowley. "Crowley…found me…before the angels who blame me for the fall could."

Kevin's eyes never left Crowley and Dean recognized the rage in them.

"That doesn't explain why he's _here_." Lips curled in a near snarl, the boy appeared to be holding himself back from advancing. Dean shifted his weight so he could move quickly if Kevin decided to act on impulse.

"Cass can't fly. He's human. I cut a deal with Crowley that if he found Cass and brought him home, he could hide out here. That Knight of Hell that Sam…that we…let out, Abbadon, is on the loose and wants Crowley dead."

"Good." Kevin smiled but it was cold. "Guess that means we have something in common…"

"I know why you want me six-feet-under, Kevin…and I'm telling you…_she's_ not dead." Crowley finally spoke up and he sounded almost contrite. Kevin looked up and away from everyone, shaking his head against Crowley's claim.

It was the demon that Dean watched. He could not figure out what was going on with him. The pompous prick wasn't human. He was still plenty demon, so why was he so damned apologetic? He hadn't been earlier in the trunk of the Impala. It wasn't until…

Oh.

Dean cast the demon a real honest look, and noticed that his eyes were as red and wet as Cass' had been when he'd noticed the demolished pyre. It had never occurred to him that Crowley could feel for anyone aside from himself but he really did seem to be taking Sam's death fairly hard. Guess all that blood in his system…

_Sammy's blood_…Dean's eyes grew wide, lips parting slightly. He'd forgotten. Once that was gone, his brother was _completely_ gone. And Crowley would be back to his impish self.

The nausea grew in persistence.

" -can't stay here, Dean!"

Dean blinked and looked away from Crowley to Kevin. The kid's face was flushed and tears had made his cheeks glisten. He'd missed some of the conversation.

"Dean made a deal. I don't like it either, Kevin, but like it or not…Crowley stays." Cass must have realized that Dean wasn't all there and stepped in.

"Then the hell if I'm going to." Kevin spun and started collecting things off of the floor.

"Yer mum's alive last I left her, prophet. I'm known to lie, true, but only if the lie benefits me. Telling you your mom was dead benefited me. At the time." Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Now? I'm bollocksed no matter which way this goes, so I've no reason to lie."

Dean crossed his arms and watched Crowley with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He didn't need to look around to know that the other two were also fixing the demon with intense glares.

Crowley let his shoulders sag, forced out a dramatic sigh and rolled his head back, bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth on the right side.

"The gates of Hell are still open. I s'pose if you still want to close them, you'll need my help. So either I go back to Hell and get slaughtered by Abbadon or I stay, help you, become human, and die anyway."

_Crowley, you're a damn genius._ Dean knew, now, how he was going to fix this.

"The gates of…" Kevin looked around for the first time since they had come into the bunker and confusion and fear settled on his features. Dean's elation at his new plan turned to dismay, knowing what was about to come.

"Dean….w-where's Sam…?" Kevin asked, his voice soft and almost child-like.

Dean sucked in a deep breath and took in the group before him. Crowley was the only one not looking at him. He'd been there when Sam collapsed. He'd seen. Didn't take much deduction to figure out who the pyre had been for considering Dean's demeanor and, of course, the lack of the younger Winchester himself.

Castiel may not be wise in the way of modern references but he was as smart as they came when it regarded the boys. Kevin was highly intelligent and Dean guessed he'd figured it out as well, albeit maybe hoping he was wrong. Yet they all fell silent after Kevin asked and he knew it wouldn't end until he said it out loud.

Dean played with his lips with the tips of his fingers, steadying himself and willing every inch of emotion as far down into his depths as he could push it.

"I found Sam at the church…" Dean gestured towards Cass. "After you brought me there, after Naomi told us that finishing the trials would kill him." Crowley had turned to watch him now as well. Dean bit his cheek and continued. "I stopped him. I talked him down so he wouldn't die…"

Understanding dawned on Castiel's face and a shadow fell across him. The angel's knees buckled but he managed to catch himself, a hand grasped the table to keep him upright.

Kevin still looked confused.

"Something went wrong. We stopped the trials but Sam…he…" The memory was overpowering his will and he could feel the heat rising from his heart, to his throat, to his cheeks and finally to his eyes. They started to well. "The trials were still killing him. He fell into a coma...and didn't wake up."

Bringing his hands to his hips, Dean dug his fingers into flesh, letting the pain focus his attention. He wondered if he should tell them about what he and Ezekiel had planned or Sam's blatant refusal. Or how he'd held his baby brother inside his own head as he faded from existence. As he rolled the decision around, he could feel the warmth leave like it had in the moment Sam was taken from him and a trickle of blood pooled at his fingertips just above his hip bone.

Dean looked down and away from everyone, using the unbloodied hand to wipe the tears still clinging to his lashes. Keeping himself under wraps was proving to be harder than he'd expected.

"Dean…I thought you said…" Cass cleared his throat and it was such an odd sound coming from the angel that it brought Dean's attention to him. It was easy to forget that he was human now. "…what about Ezekiel?"

Dean nodded and shrugged. Best he kept most of the story to himself. They didn't need to know.

"He tried, but he was injured in the fall. Sam was bad, Cass…" Green eyes met blue and they were both equally glossy. "Ezekiel didn't have enough strength."

Cass' head drooped, as did Kevin's. Dean was extremely grateful that no one had asked if he'd done something stupid.

No one asked because that was usually his and his brother's thing. Sam knew what he'd done but wasn't here to accuse him.

"Why did you burn him…?"

Everyone looked up, in collective shock, at Crowley. Son of a bitch was weeping.

"You lot are like cockroaches. There is nothing that can keep you boys dead." Crowley's eyes were overflowing and they sought Dean's eagerly. His scruff hid the quivering of his lips but his voice was tattling on his festering humanity. "I've tried! Heaven's tried! Your own kind have tried! And yet you keep coming back."

"What was I supposed to do, Crowley?"

"Something! A deal! A spell! Hell, that angel could have possessed Sam and healed him! _I_ could have possessed him long enough for his insides to have bloody mended themselves…" Crowley stepped a few inches forward, small and square compared to everyone else.

Dean clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. He _did_ try, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit that to everyone here. No one but him needed to know that Sam chose this. That was his burden to bear.

"Death came to collect Sam." Dean admitted but he chose to omit the deal Sam had made. "He made Sam leave. No more lives. No more deals."

"Like…_Death_ Death?" Eyes wide, the AP student shifted his gaze from Castiel, to Crowley and then fell back on Dean.

"The White Horseman himself." Castiel nodded. "Seems like something he would do."

Dean hoped the horseman wasn't eavesdropping or, if he was, he didn't care about the white lie he was telling.

Crowley quieted after that revelation. Even he had to know there was no getting around the Father of Reapers. Dean took the opportunity to put into play the idea he had given him moments ago.

"Sam didn't finish the trials because of me. Abbadon is still a player, because of me. Least I can do is take up the torch and finish this." Dean tried to sound as if this had been his plan all along but it hadn't even occurred to him. That made him feel ashamed. "I do this, then we can focus on Metatron."

"You mean 'we' can focus on Metatron, Dean." Cass had pulled his fingers into his palms in as tight a fist as Dean had ever seen him make. There was venom in the angel's gaze. "_You'll_ be dead."

Dean nodded his head to the side and smiled dryly, not rising to the challenge.

"You're just going to blindly follow your brother to an early grave?" Cass was suddenly in front of Dean and the Winchester had to tighten his grip on himself to prevent a physical altercation. "You think that is what Sam would have wanted?"

"Sam is dead. And it was for nothing." Dean squared up against Cass; every ounce of his pent-up angst swelled in his arms, fists, and chest as rage incarnate. "_Nothing_. You hear me?"

Kevin backed away, glancing quickly between the hunter and the graceless angel. Crowley squinted his eyes as he watched Dean.

"_I_ stopped Sam so that he would live. _I_ let him quit doing the trials…to save him. Where is he now, Cass, huh?" The volume of Dean's voice threatened to raise. Cass didn't seem able to respond to the question, or was unwilling to.

"I _burned_ Sam! I _watched_ my _brother_…" Dean licked his curled lips and dropped his head. The veins that webbed up his arm were prominent and his fist had dropped to an almost albino shade with the amount of pressure behind his squeezing.

The righteous fury behind the angel's earlier accusation was draining from his face.

"But Dean, yo-"

"I need a shower." Dean was in no damn mood to argue or defend his decision. "We'll figure this all out tomorrow. Pick a room, get some rest. We get started bright and early."

Dean blew out of the room before anyone could object.

* * *

Back in his room, he looked around at all the possessions he had collected over the years and felt an out-of-place sense of security. Dean had never had his own space before and he liked to imagine that this is what normal might feel like. There was much to be said for being able to escape.

While any one of the three he'd left in the war room could meander down to his door and knock on it, he felt confident that none of them would. His temper was well known and it'd been triggered.

Dean's hands were still trembling from his almost-altercation with Cass but they were still able to pull off his coat, his flannel over-shirt and black under shirt rather quickly. It didn't take long for him to remove the rest of his clothes and boots, either.

It'd been several days since he'd showered and he could smell himself so much so that he was almost hesitant to put on his robe. Then again, he didn't want to be caught naked wandering the halls to the bathroom. Pulling the robe on, he made sure to tie it tightly and resigned himself to doing laundry the next day.

Dean drew his room door closed behind him as he stepped out into the brisk stone hallway. No one to his left. No one to his right. Feeling a little like a delinquent in his own home, he tip-toed as quickly as he could down to the bathroom, slipped inside and shut the door. His lack of sleep was making him silly.

No, he figured, this was his usual go-to. When things started to look like shit, laugh. Smile. Make a joke out of it. Make it through the week. Like Frank had said over a year ago following Bobby's death.

But this wasn't Bobby. This was Sam.

His quick venture into playfulness made him feel sick as he looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked like hell. Blood smeared by sweat still covered his skin where the wounds were open. He'd cleaned his face after…well…while waiting to break into the morgue that night but he hadn't dressed or cleaned the cuts so they were still free to bleed. Soot, dirt and tree sap clung to his cheeks, neck and hands. There was a leaf in his hair. How long that had been there, he hadn't a clue. No one had cared to mention it.

Plucking the greenery from his hair, he turned it over in his hands. Nothing special, but he found himself staring at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Dean."

Dean whirled around, letting the leaf fall to the floor. His eyes scanned the bathroom though he knew he was in there alone. There was no doubt in what he had heard but his rationale refused to accept it.

Heart pounding and a fresh layer of cold sweat hugging his chest, Dean made his way over to the bathroom door. Pressed firmly against the wall, he swore at himself for not bringing his gun in there with him. What exactly was he going to use it on, though? If this _was_ anything, it'd likely be a ghost and his gun would only piss it off.

Rolling his eyes, Dean opened the bathroom door and peeked around the corner. Nothing. He turned to glance down the opposite side of the hallway. Empty. The door was closed quietly.

His heart raced. Once more he surveyed the bathroom. No lights flickered. It wasn't cold.

The voice echoed in his ears. He knew that voice. Better than his own. Which means it could have only been in his head.

Shuddering, Dean walked over to the shower, shed his robe and turned the water as hot as he could make it. While it heated, he gathered his shampoo and body wash from the cabinet, ignoring the vast array of products he used to hide from his brother for giggles.

One by one he laid down his soaps at the edge of the shower and then returned to the cabinet for a towel. Only one left. He'd definitely have to do the laundry soon or they'd all be drip-drying.

Dean normally stepped into the shower timidly, to test the waters. Today, however, he jumped in and let the heat hit him full on. He couldn't feel it. Not really. The steam was there. His skin was turning a lobster shade of red. He knew it was hot…but he couldn't feel it. He watched the water slide down his body, changing colors as it hit various types of grime. He turned his face towards the flow of water, letting it wash away the blood and dirt.

Slowly, the sensation of heat seeped into his flesh and his muscles relaxed. He hadn't even noticed he'd been tense, though it didn't surprise him. Tense was his norm. Add on to that the auditory invasion of his mind and he was straight jittery.

Thoughts lingered on the voice. Considering the events of the afternoon, he wouldn't allow himself to hope that his brother had managed to stick around.

_He wouldn't have wanted to_, Dean's grim realization was both a comfort and a curse. As much as he wanted Sam to be there with him, he knew all too well what happened to lingering spirits. He would not be able to burn his brother twice. Besides, what would he have latched on to?

The eldest surrendered to the acceptance that he was just finally losing his mind.

Sam, however, would reason that it was grief and that it was normal. And he'd probably be right. But Dean Winchester wasn't normal and he believed that he fell outside of the whole "5 Stages of Grief" thing. He would pen up every square inch of emotion until he couldn't anymore. Eventually it would erupt and Dean with it.

_Worked just peachy until now_, Dean poured shampoo into his hands and worked it into a lather atop his head. _It'll work until I get up there with you, Sammy._

The tears disguised themselves as shower water and fell unnoticed.

* * *

The bathroom was so thick with steam by the time Dean had finished, he could scarcely see. He took the towel to his head, drying his hair until it pointed in every direction it shouldn't and then went to work on his body. When he finished, he started to put on his robe and then thought better of it. It went into the laundry basket for towels to be cleaned after Dean got dressed again. Or tomorrow.

Most likely tomorrow.

"Dean…"

His heart jumped into his throat and he spun around again. He was going to have to invest in a friggin straight jacket if this kept up. But this time the voice was followed by a rapping at the door. The Winchester gave a rather audible sigh of relief as he wrapped the towel around his lower region.

A thick plume of steam escaped, as he cracked the door open, straight into the face of Castiel. Dean's obstinate nature fired back up and he immediately stood as straight as he could, fixing the angel with narrowed eyes and lips in a hard line. He said nothing.

Cass looked him over, which made him feel more naked than he actually was. So when the other continued to keep the silence, Dean rolled his eyes upwards and spoke.

"What do you want, Cass?"

"I…um…" Cass leaned over so he could look past the hunter into the bathroom. "I need to urinate. And probably shower." The angel lifted an arm to smell himself. Dean caught a whiff and recoiled backwards.

"Ya think?" Dean stepped out of Cass' way and into the hall. "All yours. Use the shampoo that's already in the shower. Leave the stuff in the cabinet alone."

Dean would have to go through and pack all that away eventually. Wasteful as it may be, he refused to even consider letting anyone else use Sammy's beauty products.

The angel was still watching him intently.

"Dude…can you not stare?" Dean left Cass to do his thing before he could respond.

Dean's room was further down the hall than he remembered and before he could reach it, there was Crowley.

"Son of a…." Yanking his arms up in exasperation, Dean turned to walk the other direction before remembering that Cass was back that way.

"My, my, Dean, never seen this side of you before." Crowley cooed and it made Dean's skin crawl.

"Alright, you creepy bastard, can you, I don't know…close your eyes or something?"

"Feeling flustered, are we?"

"Yeah, you wish…." Dean pressed himself as close to the wall as he could, trying to scoot passed the demon. As he did, Crowley stepped closer in a successful attempt to annoy and embarrass him. Dean hopped forward and out of the way, walking as quickly as he could back to his room. He could hear Crowley laughing to himself as he left.

Once at his room, he shut and locked his door. Just in case. Dean stood for a second, an exaggerated shiver taking hold of his entire body.

"Ugh…" Dean closed his eyes and ran his hands over his arms, trying to run down the goose flesh that had risen. "Friggin Crowley, man…"

It took less time for him to dress than it had to undress. For the just in case someone else decided to come knocking on his door. He walked over to his mirror and combed his hair forward, using the smallest amount of gel to spike up the front and smooth down the sides. Content with his appearance, he glanced down at his shirt and, not for the first time, missed the necklace that used to hang there.

Especially with his brother gone.

And not for the first time, Dean hated himself for ever getting rid of the damned thing in the first place. How stupid he had been. It didn't escape his consideration that that act had likely escalated his brother's descent into self-loathing. Dean closed his eyes tight and pursed his lips tighter.

A knock at the door brought him back to his bravado and pulled him back from the brink of a potential breakdown.

"What?" He called out, not willing to open the door until he'd straightened himself and soothed the tightness both in his chest and throat.

"It's Kevin…I need to talk to you."

"Great…." The whisper was accompanied by a hand on his face. As if the act would also rid him of his earlier sentiments, his wiped the hand downwards.

_Damn_. His fingers brushed over the hair that was still present on his cheeks and chin. He'd forgotten to shave.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, hold on…" He spoke as he moved, unlocking the door and letting it swing wide. Kevin hesitated before entering, looking around humbly.

"Do you need an invitation?" Dean hadn't meant to sound so harsh. The kid looked haggard and the words deemed a glare.

Kevin entered and took a seat in the hard wood chair in front of Dean's desk. Dean turned and leaned against his sink, bracing himself with his hands. Not trusting his words or his tone, he gave himself over to the silence.

"First off…" The kid hesitated again. "I am so sorry about Sam…" Dean only nodded in response, keeping his face clear and stoic. Kevin continued. "I…miss him too…he was always…nice, to me. Always tried to help…."

Dean was the asshole, he knew. He'd been tough on Kevin. Sam had tried to get him to take care of himself. Dean gave him pills so he could push through and finish getting the trials. The trials that _he_ should have done. The trials that…

"Dean?"

Kevin was studying him. Dean blinked through his inattention. Focusing on the remorse of his failures was dangerous, so he instead focused on the guilt behind how he'd treated the prophet.

"Kev, I'm sorry…I should never have pushed you as hard as I did…"

"Dean, no. I was going to have to figure out the trials one way or the other. And I'm still here. Sam isn't. I didn't say all that to make you feel guilty…or to get an apology." Kevin had perked up, trying to talk him down off his guilt. The kid had no way of knowing that his attempts at comfort only increased it.

Kevin sat up straighter in his chair and fixed the hunter with resolute eyes.

"I can't stay here. I did my part. Even…even if my mom is dead…" Kevin trailed. Dean had started to chime in but the prophet cut him off. "Regardless, I'm done. If you're hell-bent on closing…well….Hell…you have my notes. You know what to do. I'm leaving."

Dean regarded the kid quietly and everything that could go wrong danced in his head like macabre musical notes.

"With Abbadon and Metatron out there, that might not be so smart. Neither will want you reading up on the Word of God and both have the power to take you out with a look." His arms crossed now, Dean tried his best to sound understanding. However, he felt like maybe he'd come off as a little condescending.

"So, what? I'm supposed to just hide here until you _maybe_ close the gates of hell? With Crowley?" The kid grew visibly tense; brows furrowed and hands white-knuckling the edge of the chair.

"I _will _close the gates of hell….and then Crowley's human. And if you still want to kill him, be my guest. Hell, I won't be here to stop you."

"That's another thing." Dean rolled his eyes but Kevin didn't seem to notice. "Are you sure Castiel isn't right? Are you just diving into this so you can die?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak but the prophet wasn't done.

"Like you don't still have people here who you care about…or that care about you?"

That caught Dean off guard. Of course he still had people he cared about. That was never the issue.

"Caring about me is just shy of a death sentence, Kevin." Not a word of a lie. In his eyes, anyway.

Crossing his arms across his chest in blatant rebellion against Dean's words, Kevin shook his head. "Maybe so, but that's _our_ choice to make."

Tilting his head backwards, he observed the young prophet. He'd aged quite a bit since he'd first appeared and stolen the demon tablet. Kevin was wise in many ways but he didn't know the half of what Dean had done or the people he had lost. He was unwilling to lose anyone else. Without Sam, even with his new determination to close the gates, he still wasn't entirely sure how he'd keep this up or if he was even able to.

_You can…and you will._ Sam's words came back to him then and he shook his head at both the ghost of his brother and the boy in front of him.

"I stopped Sam because I couldn't lose him. And I lost him anyway." Dean began, his tone soft and quiet. "If I do this, then my little brother won't have died for nothing. I can finish what he started and try to help clean up the rest of this as we go. Leave this rock a little safer than I found it, kind o' thing."

"And I can go back to a normal life?" Kevin asked, no lack of sarcasm in his voice.

"As normal as normal can be for you after all of this." Dean granted Kevin an empty smile but did not dare look him in the eye.

Kevin nodded slowly but didn't return the smile. There was no such thing as normal after getting caught up in the darker side of life. Hunting, angels, demons, prophets…once you know what's out there it's hard to get back to school, or a 9 – 5. Sam had tried. Lost Jessica. He had tried. Lost Lisa and Ben. But a normal life is what drove Kevin forward so he wasn't about to kill the dream, even if the kid already knew it was a farce.

"Oh, hey, how are we on food?" Dean decided it may be better for all involved if the conversation took an abrupt turn. It was a valid question, regardless.

Kevin blinked at the left field inquiry.

"We ran out about two days ago." He admitted.

"Two da-….so you've not eaten at all…for two days?" Dean's face twisted into incredulousness.

"I've gone longer without food." The kid looked almost proud of his words. Sure he had. How many days did he live off of hotdogs? That's not food. That's filling.

"Yeah, ok. Well, we have to feed you, me and now Cass." Dean tapped his hands against the sink and thought about what all he'd need to grab if he went out. Alcohol. Definitely alcohol. Kevin needed actual sustenance. Like…Sam level sustenance. Rabbit food. A laugh formed in his throat before his heart reached up and suffocated it. A sigh was all that remained. Dean chewed on his lower lip.

Castiel liked hamburgers, or at least his vessel did. Crowley, well…did demons eat? Ah hell, he'd just go grab something from some fast food place and figure out an actual shopping list later after he'd had some sleep.

"Guess I'm running out, then." Dean fell lazily on his bed and pulled his boots to him. Kevin watched him quietly but the air still held the tension of words left unsaid.

"Kevin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to ride out with me? Fresh air would probably do you some good." Dean looked over at him, meaning what he'd said but leaving out the part where he figured leaving Kevin here with Crowley was a bad idea. He sure wasn't gonna take the King of Hell to Biggerson's.

Kevin thought about it for a moment and looked down at his stained clothes.

"Go get cleaned up. I'll wait." Dean kept at his boots and didn't look back up at the prophet but caught the movement out of his peripheral as Kevin stood and left the room.

Finally alone, Dean finished fidgeting with his shoes and leaned heavily on his legs, hands clasped together. Green eyes stared absently at the floor as the first lethargic tug of exhaustion gripped him tight. He really didn't want to go out again but who else was he going to send? Crowley and Cass were walking targets and though he didn't know if anyone was actively looking for Kevin, he wasn't going to risk it. At least with Dean, he'd be protected.

This was promising to be one hell of a headache.

* * *

The pain had subsided but the feeling, the memory, of it was still at the very forefront of his mind. It was familiar and yet not. Sam tried to stand but found his legs disinclined to cooperate.

Nothing since he had woken up in the car earlier was setting right.

_No shit, Sherlock…_he thought wryly.

Sun disappearing in a manner of minutes. The time leap between a younger Dean and the one he was with now.

His hair.

That last thought made him laugh. What a way to tell he had aged. Would explain why the short hair had felt so off. It was a younger version of himself.

As he sat in the dirt out in front of Bobby's place, a conclusion began to form. Or at least a possible conclusion. Either he was stuck inside his own head while who-knows-what was going on out in the real world or..

"You're incorrigible."

Sam turned to his left quickly, saw nothing and then turned the other way. His lips fluttered dumbly as he wide-eyed the figure before him. His legs became willing participants once again and he used the handle of the open Impala door to help brace himself as he rose.

"You.." Sam managed.

Death stood before him, cane in hand.

Sam knew him, he realized. Not just through Dean, as this point in his timeline would have dictated, but "knew" knew him.

"What do you mean? Where am I?" The presence of the reaper started to fill some cracks in his recollection.

"Nowhere you've been before, I assure you." At Sam's confused expression, Death sighed and motioned around him with his free hand.

"This is a construct of my own design. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Not Purgatory." Death spoke slowly and the young Winchester looked down at the ground, trying very hard to wrench the memories from his head that seemed just a hair out of reach.

Nothing came to him and he huffed, becoming more and more frustrated as the seconds went by. What was he forgetting? He'd felt it since he woke up. Something bad.

What was it?

"You Winchesters just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" The reaper stepped closer to Sam. "And to think, you asked me for this. Made me promise, actually."

Now that was news.

"Made a deal with Death? No way." Hazel eyes narrowed as he struggled to think clearly.

"Oh, for Heaven's Sake, boy, you're dead." Death actually sounded annoyed.

Dead.

The orange light. The trials…Sam looked back down at his arms, the fading memory of the pain flashed again, but without the accompanying agony.

"The cabin…Dean…." Sam looked around as he whispered his brother's name and realized that everything had vanished. The Impala. Singer's Auto. The night sky. Everything. It was as empty as it had been when he'd faded away from his brother. The only other thing there aside from him was Death.

"Yes. You remember now."

"Why didn't I before?" Sam inquired, starting to feel a mite better now that there wasn't a gaping hole in his memory.

"I figured it would be easier to keep you…tame. Obviously…" Death fixed Sam with a raised brow and a look none too amused. "…I was wrong."

Sam squinted his eyes at the reaper. He wanted to know more about why Death had stolen the memories of his demise but didn't want to risk pissing him off. He remembered _now_, so what was the point in kicking the horse?

And, naturally, the forever curious Winchester found himself growing more and more interested in wherever this was. He let his inquisitiveness lead him.

"What is this place?"

"Usually, us reapers don't choose where a soul goes. We're just glorified delivery. You, my boy, were actually bound for Heaven. I simply took a detour."

"Me? _I_ was bound for Heaven?" Sam was doubtful. He'd stopped the trials. He'd abandoned his brother. The list of things he'd done wrong was massive.

Death returned the curious gaze and Sam felt the weight of it upon him.

"Did you think you were going somewhere else?"

"Well…yes. Kind of." Sam admitted softly with a chuckle. His eyes were still pinched together, full of skepticism.

Raising his brows, Death walked passed Sam. Before he knew it, he was back in the cabin he'd essentially died in. The reaper took a seat in the same chair as before and gestured for Sam to do the same. He obliged, albeit with some delay. Being here made him apprehensive. It reminded him of his brother, of his last minutes with him.

"You did a lot more good than you did evil, Sam Winchester. You have a pure heart, for the most part, and are exceptionally _good._" Death's voice was laced with reverence. "However, you are also extremely stubborn."

Couldn't argue with that. He and his brother both were well known for it.

"I built this place for you, specifically. It is neither Heaven nor Hell, but a place out of reach for anyone who might try to bring you back."

Sam listened intently, nodding both to himself and Death.

"Heaven and Hell are both accessible to some pretty powerful players. I get it." Cocking his head to the side, he looked over at Death and cleared his throat. "But if that's the case, why was I in my memories? Like, uh…Heaven, I guess?"

Death nodded softly and then shook his head.

"Yes…and no. While it's true that you were in your memories, it is your mind that fuels this place. You saw what you wanted to see and how you wanted to see it."

Death waved a hand and a blurry rendition of earlier when Sam scared himself with his own hair played, like a spiritual movie. Sam pursed his lips together. Of all the things…

"Take this, for example. In Heaven, _you_ might have broken free from how your memory played out but Dean would have, could have, only responded in the way the actual memory flowed. While here, he responded to what you were saying and doing in real time."

The image faded, leaving Sam with more questions than answers but he kept them to himself.

"This place is essentially inside your head, or would be if you still had one." Sam glared at Death. "Anyone you see here will respond in ways you think they would have responded as you knew them, like Dean earlier. You can replay actual memories or…"

"Create new ones." Sam finished, woefully. "They still won't be real."

"No…" Death agreed with a small nod. "But it is preferable to just watching a movie you've already seen over and over again, wouldn't you agree?"

He'd _rather_ be with the actual Dean. His heart ached knowing that this was a choice of his own making.

"So, no one can reach me here?"

"I wouldn't know. No one has tried. Yet." Death stood and turned, his lips twisted in a sly smile. "I do like my odds, though."

Sam quickly stood, reaching to stop Death before thinking better of it.

"What about…will you bring Dean here when he…" Sam didn't want to think about it. As much as he longed to have his brother with him, he knew what it would mean if he did and that just couldn't happen. Not anytime soon.

"Oh, yes. Of course. Like he'd let me take him anywhere else." Death offered and Sam smiled at that.

"That's true enough."

The cabin had started to fade again and that memory made his blood run cold. Sam closed his eyes and shivered.

"What do I do now?" He asked, not opening his eyes to know if Death was even still there.

"What you want, I suppose. And I know this is going to fall on deaf ears since you failed to listen to me about the wall in your head…" Death lowered his voice and it was as cold as the feeling gripping the young Winchester. "…but try to not go scratching at _these_ walls."

Sam opened his eyes and he was alone.

Walls, huh? So what, this was like a box he was trapped in for all eternity?

_Like the Cage…._

The thought was forced down as quick as it had risen. Sheer terror reasoned that thinking about it would bring it to fruition and he wasn't eager to test the theory.

Sam stood in darkness, unable to move and unwilling to let his mind make anything from the emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~A/N : Okay. That one's done. o.O On to the next. I hope you enjoy and, as always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. Yours always, **Frag** ~


	3. Chapter 3

The bunker was quiet when Dean rolled out of bed. Quiet enough to warrant a glance at the clock with leering red numbers off to his right.

Two in the morning.

He’d laid down shortly after midnight and only because the former angel turned bunker-mate had urged him to with admonition. Going to sleep then became a retreat from Cass’ overbearing worries and glares and his apparent inability to control his flatulence.

Human Cass was a whole ‘nother animal from angel Cass. To be honest, it was kind of like having Sam around again. But since it wasn’t his brother, he had no patience for it.

It was chilly inside his room and although he knew he wouldn’t likely be able to fall back asleep, he scooted himself backwards on the bed until his back was pressed against the wall. The blankets were pulled up to chest level and the pillow behind him adjusted to provide levity from the unforgiving headboard. It was beautiful that he had all this freedom to just think and plan their next move but he knew that he’d have to tread carefully.

Freedom to think had the potential to double as an emotional pitfall.

The quartet of uneasy allies had been treading on eggshells for a little over a week now. Dean had a full time job trying to keep the peace, which was not usually his gig.

Crowley was working his way back to being a full-time douche again, but considering touchy-feely Crowley made for awkward dinners, it was a welcome change.

Castiel was still adapting to his new needs. He and Kevin had started taking turns reminding each other to eat, sleep and keep up with personal hygiene. Thankfully, the kid’s status as a potential flight risk seemed to have diminished.

Not much could be done to prepare for the trials right now. Everyone, except Dean, was researching ways to reopen heaven; to get to Metatron. The Winchester got a pass because he was the only one who could leave the bunker. When it was time to get food, beer or spell supplies, Dean skipped all the way out the door. Alone time with his car allowed him to decompress from referee duty.

Dean tapped his head against the wall while his thoughts played out one after another. The waiting to get started on his grand plan was making him restless, made plain by his incapacity for sleep. With little else to do in the wee hours, he reached over and grabbed his phone and headphones from the bedside table. Listening out for the continued silence before he slid the headset over his ears, he nodded his satisfaction when the only sound that registered was the occasional whirring of the oxygen unit through the vents.

Dean blocked out the rest of the world and set his playlist to shuffle.

* * *

“Dean…”

The voice was muffled and didn’t seem too urgent, so he ignored it.

“Dean…wake up…”

The persistence was agitating him. An attempt to slide his hand under the pillow was met with the groggy memory that he’d not laid down again after putting on his music. His pillow was under his ass.

“Dean!”

The third use of his name was not muffled as the first two had been. Habitual instinct forced him straight up, headphones tore off his head and gaze desperately looking around for the source. Dean clenched his teeth, working his lips over them in voiceless obscenities. The only other person in his room was Cass, but that was not who he had heard that last time.

“Damn it, Cass….” Was what he said but, inwardly, his curses were for himself.

Dean brought his hands up to rub down his face, grinding the heel of his palms into his eyes to rid them of sleep.

“I did not mean to startle you.” Cass’ eyes were so narrow they almost appeared shut. The shadows beneath them were prominent and the angel seemed eons older than he should have.

You_ didn’t_, Dean confessed to himself. Best not tell the angel that he was hearing Sam and that it was becoming a frequent occurrence. Cass was likely to take that literally.

“You outta know by now that it’s a game of Russian Roulette to wake me up.” The hunter wearily eyed the angel, feeling a dull throbbing in his lower back and the tingle of circulation being cut off from his right arse cheek. Dean raised his phone to check the time, having to squint and close one eye to focus on the tiny numbers. It was a little after nine in the morning.

“I do know that, but…” The angel massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger, scrunching up his face.

“You doin’ alright?” Dean could see he wasn’t but be it far from him to assume.

“I’m fine. My head just hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s not generally what I’d call fine.” Dean stretched his arms out in front of him but kept his eyes on Castiel. “Hurts how? And where?”

“It feels like someone is squeezing my eyes and my face feels tight. It’s…unpleasant.” Cass moved to massage over his cheekbones just off the side of his nostrils to demonstrate what he meant.

“Got your first sinus headache, sounds like.”

Dean threw back his blankets and pulled himself to the edge of the bed, facing away from Cass, and avoided putting pressure on the side of his rear that was still fast asleep. The twinge in his back was likely from sleeping sitting up and would work out on its own with time, so he ignored it.

Leaning down, Dean reached under the bed and pulled out his personal supply of illegally-obtained prescription meds. Glancing through the names of each, he _ah-ha_’d as he found the one that would help Cass and tossed the bottle over his head.

The bottle hit something hard and fell to the floor with a clatter. Dean flinched, turning slowly to see what he had managed to peg.

Castiel’s eyes were crossed and attempting to look upwards. A small red mark began to emerge right at his hairline. Dean couldn’t help it. His grin stretched the limits of his cheeks and the muscles of his stomach were tense with the effort it took to not laugh out loud.

The angel merely bent down and picked up the bottle, examining the contents intently. After a moment his gaze turned to Dean’s, who had forced the mirth from his face but feared he wouldn’t be able to from his voice.

“Those’ll help with the headache.” He pushed himself off the bed and made himself busy, pulling clothes from drawers and trying his damndest to not look at Cass.

“Before or after you threw them at my head?” Cass asked, his voice and demeanor ever dry.

Dean snickered and shrugged, throwing a forced apologetic look at the other who was quite obviously not buying it.

“Thought you would catch it.” Honestly, he did.

“You gave me no forewarning and my eyes were closed. How was I supposed to catch it?”

“Not my fault.” Dean’s smile was genuine for the first time in a while as he turned to raise his brows at Cass whilst removing his white sleep shirt.

Castiel jerked the right side of his lips back in distaste for Dean’s jest and raised the bottle to study it again.

“Thank you for these. How many do I take?”

Dean stopped pulling his gray undershirt down over his head for the moment it took to consider that. 

“Before I’d say take the whole bottle but…” He shifted on his feet so he could see Cass without turning around completely and grabbed his black and white flannel from the top of the dresser. “You’re human now so probably just two.”

Cass nodded and went to open the bottle. His hand twisted at the top, first one way and then the other. The angel’s shoulders dropped more and more with each failed attempt to get into the little orange container of sinus meds.

Dean had used his friend’s irritated distraction as a chance to quickly change from his sweats to a pair of jeans and had managed to get them on, buttoned and belted before Cass audibly sighed and looked up at him.

The sheer expression of defeat on his face and the fatigue in his eyes almost made Dean feel sorry for him.

“How do they expect patients to medicate themselves when they can’t get into the bottle?” Cass let the bottle drop on the bed, an act that reminded Dean of a disgruntled child.

Dean walked over and grabbed the bottle off of the bed, used one hand to hold it and laid the other hand on the lid, pressed down and then twisted. The lid popped off. He let the white top fall to the bed as he handed the bottle to Cass, who was eyeing the top with a humorous amount of contempt.

“It’s child proof.” Dean’s chest heaved with the laugh he hadn’t meant to let escape as he added, “And apparently angel proof.”

Castiel glared at the little pills in his hand even as they entered his mouth. Swallowing them, he handed the bottle back to Dean who quickly returned the lid to its rightful place. The bottle was left lying on the bed to be put back up later.

“Throbbing eyeballs aside, what do you want?” Dean dabbed a little bit more gel in certain areas where his hair had started to perk up in unwanted ways. Lastly he sprayed a small amount of cologne into the air in front of him and walked through it.

Cass blinked, his head tilted.

“_You_ woke _me_ up, remember?” His reminder brought a nod from the angel.

“Oh. Yes. Um. Crowley found something we might be able to use.” Cass spoke slowly, as if trying to recall what exactly it was that Crowley had found.

“Cass….when is the last time you slept?” Crossing his arms, he set his face with the same scrutinizing expression he’d given Sam so many times throughout their life.

“Oh, I…yesterday? Or was it…the day before....” Cass admitted weakly. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Go to bed. You’re no good to anyone as Zombie Cass.”

“I am not ‘Zombie Cass.’ ” The angel rebuked. “Zombies are-“

“Yeah, alright there, Captain Obvious. What I mean is that you’re human now and you need to keep up with your sleep. It’s just as important as eating or drinking water for not getting dead quicker. Ok?” Head tilted down, his green eyes kept the angel’s stormy blues.

“Coming from the man who drinks whiskey like water and barely eats or sleeps.” Cass’ gruff voice sounded more gravelly than usual.

“Yeah, well, no one said I was the poster boy for human health.” Dean stopped himself from adding that that would have been his brother. Well, mostly. Sam was just as bad as he was for putting aside his health when his head was buried in research or solving whatever Apocalyptic dilemma they had.

Or when the trials were tearing him apart from the inside out….

The faded image of Sam on the floor in that hotel back in Colorado, sweating so much his clothes became like a second layer of skin, projected on the floor of his bedroom in front of him. Dean could see his brother the way he had found him when he came tearing into the room back then, barely able to breath and his temperature the highest he’d ever known it to be. He wanted to move towards him now as he did then. Comfort him through his unconsciousness and throw him in another ice-bath. His brother’s name inched its way to the tip of his tongue, only to be stopped by a sharp intake of breath.

“Dean…are you alright…?” Cass’ voice washed over the phantom memory on his floor and it disappeared. 

Dean looked up, having realized his arms were crossed snugly over his chest and his hands were gripping muscle tight. There would be bruises later.

“Uh, yeah.” He lied. Hearing Sam was one thing. Imagining things, though? Dean glanced sideways towards where he’d just seen his brother, but all he saw now was his bare floor. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cass tightened his eyes and pulled his head back. Dean felt exposed under the inspection. The angel shifted his weight and looked like he was about to speak again.

“What did Crowley find?” Quickly asking before he could be pestered about how he was dealing, again, for the hundredth time since returning to the bunker. Dean moved to the door of his room and gestured for Cass to follow him out. He did, after a brief hesitation at the abrupt subject change, and Dean closed the door behind them both.

“A spell. I don’t know the specifics of it. Trying to get him to explain is a Herculean task.” Cass spoke resignedly, his feet unable to lift from the ground. The angel shuffled several feet behind Dean before he collapsed against the wall.

Dean stopped walking and looked back in time to see him hit the wall and slide down.

“Shit. Cass!” Dean moved quickly to his side, bracing his friend so he didn’t fall backwards. “You ok?”

“I’m f’n…” Was all the angel managed before he went completely limp.

“Damn it…” Dean whispered as he hefted the angel up. Squatting down so that he could get a better hold of Cass, he pulled him across the back of his shoulders, holding his arm with one hand and hooking the other around the back of his leg. Using the wall for support, Dean slowly stood, timing sharp exhales to help him withstand the weight.

Considering his room was closer, Dean erred on the side of caution and decided it’d be better if he deposited the angel there. Just a few feet back, he braced himself and the angel against the door frame so that he could open the door and then used his foot to kick it open all the way. Just a few more steps to the bed and he shifted his weight so he could gently lay his idiotic friend down without jostling him awake.

Out of habit, Dean moved to the head of the bed and laid a hand on Cass’ forehead. No fever. He breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head.

He grabbed an extra blanket from one of his drawers. Throwing it over the newly minted human, he counted his blessings that Cass seemed just exhausted and not full on sick.

Dean left the room as quietly as he could, leaving the door ajar just in case.

* * *

In the library, Dean found both Crowley and Kevin sitting at the same table opposite each other.

Crowley had his usual black suit on, though maybe not as crisp as he’d kept it being the King of Hell. In his hand was a crystal glass, probably full of the scotch Dean had told him to lay off of. He gave the hunter a curt nod as he came into view but remained mute.

Kevin was looking pretty good, considering. He’d cleaned up pretty well and his clothes were no longer stained and wrinkled. The prophet was absorbed in whatever text he was reading when Dean entered. Not wanting to startle him, Dean cleared his throat softly in hopes it would garner his attention.

It did not. Kevin kept on reading.

Twisting his lips downwards with a quick side-tilt of the head, Dean shrugged and turned his attention to Crowley.

“Cass says you found something?” Keeping his voice quiet as to not disturb Kevin, he pulled out a chair next to Crowley and took a seat.

Crowley nodded but instead of replying, he brought a finger up to his lips in a gesture for Dean to be quiet. The hunter just about growled his rebuttal before the finger used to hush him was then pointed towards Kevin.

Dean raised a brow, his face pinched tightly in both confusion and aggravation. But he bit his tongue and kept his own silence.

A book was open in front of him so he pulled it close to gander at the contents. The whole blasted thing was in Enochian. He knew what Cass had been reading before he was sent to wake Dean up. The hunter pushed the book away from him but with a little too much force. A couple of books that had been stacked on top of each other fell off the other side of the table.

The commotion shook Kevin out of his trance.

“Oh…Hi, Dean. I didn’t see you come in.” Kevin sounded tired but not tired like Cass was; more like tired of staring endlessly at words. Dean knew how he felt.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either if my nose was that buried in a book.” Dean offered a jest that Kevin took with a small, ingenuine smile.

Dean looked from Crowley to Kevin. Both looked melancholy. The more his gaze danced between them, the more it narrowed.

“Okay. I thought finding something we could use was usually _good_ news?” Dean inquired, unsure how to take the mood.

“It was.” Kevin breathed. “Until we looked at the ingredients.”

Ingredients? Oh, right. Cass had said it was a spell.

“Firstly, let’s fill me in on what the spell is and does.” Dean laid his hands flat on the table, trying to quell his irritation at their cryptic responses.

“It’s a spell that will, in theory, locate angels.” Crowley finally spoke up. “Or their source of power.”

“Their grace.” Dean added and the demon nodded.

“Remember how I told you that the bunker freaked out when I tried to leave?” Kevin leaned his weight on his forearms and looked only at Dean.

“Uh, yeah. You said the alarms went off, the lights went out and the table in there,” He motioned to the lit up map in the war room, “lit up like a Christmas tree.”

Kevin nodded. “I think those red dots that appeared were angels, or groups of angels, when they fell. I don’t know of any computer program that could track that.”

Dean knew someone they could call but he really didn’t want to bring her in on this. They’d asked enough of Charlie as it was. Most importantly, if he was being honest, he didn’t want to have to tell her about Sam.

“Since your Men of Letters have a knack for mixing science and sorcery, I thought it might be magic that was able to track the fallen pests.” Crowley took a sip of his scotch. “And I was right.”

“There is an Enochian spell that can track the grace of an angel. Which means we could keep an eye on where they are and start planning an assault or, at the very least, be able to keep our distance.” Kevin talking about an assault on the angels brought about a strong sense of unease in Dean. Ignoring it for the moment, he asked the question he’d been waiting for them to answer.

“I see no downside to this. What’s the ingredient that’s put a hold on things?”

“To be able to track the grace of angels on that large of a scale…” Kevin’s eyes grew wide as he stared absently at the book in front of hm.

“Is going to require the full grace of an angel.” The demon finished, no more amused by the prospect than the prophet.

Dean cocked his head to the side and let it fall to his chest, gently swaying with his cynical amusement.

“Need the grace of an angel to track an angel.” Dean scoffed. “Yeah, that makes sense….”

Unfortunately, it did.

“Speaking of angels…” Crowley set down his glass and looked around. “Where is our fine, featherless friend?”

“Sleeping.”

“Finally.” Kevin sighed. “I’ve been trying to get him to go to sleep for a day now. He insisted that he needed to be awake while you slept.” He motioned towards Dean.

_Stubborn asshat,_ Dean thought. Which triggered the memory of the term _Assbut_ that the angel had used against Michael, with a Molotov no less, some four odd years ago. A laugh wrenched itself from his chest and he moved a hand to cover his mouth.

Both the demon and prophet gave him befuddled looks but he waved them off. 

“So…we need to capture ourselves an angel. How do we trap one outside of holy fire?” Dean asked.

“Only way I know how.” Crowley admitted. “But the real issue here isn’t trapping them…”

“It’s finding them.” Kevin finished. The demon pointed towards the prophet to emphasize his accuracy.

Dean tapped his fingers on the table in rhythm to a song he found he had stuck in his head. Couldn’t remember the title or lyrics at the moment. Just the music.

“Alright, well, Cass will know what to do. But he needs to sleep, so…” Dean tapped out the rhythm more dramatically for a few seconds longer and then eyed Crowley.

“About the gates. What are our options?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the hunter and seemed to be rolling his thoughts around on his tongue. He smacked his lips together and sat up straighter in the chair.

“First trial is killing one of my hounds, yes?”

“And bathing in its blood.” Kevin reminded them both.

Dean tried and failed to keep the image of Sam being drenched in hellhound blood from surfacing. He tapped the table in time with his heartbeat now, eyes drilling a hole into space.

“Then the first trial will be the easiest. I know of a few souls about to be puppy chow.” Crowley was attempting to seem cold on the matter but Dean, even in his own battle of fighting down feelings, didn’t miss the twinge of despair in the demon’s voice.

He supposed that even as merciless as this bastard could be, the hounds were probably the most loyal to him and that warranted them a place in Crowley’s little black heart. Dean found himself sympathetic.

“Point me in the right direction. I’ll go alone.”

Crowley lifted his head in Dean’s direction and narrowed one eye at him, the rest of his face still trying to appear business as usual.

“Not a chance, Squirrel. If you’re gonna gut one of my hounds, the least I can do is be there and watch. I owe them that much…” Crowley’s voice faded to nothing. Both Dean and Kevin stared in bewilderment at the demon.

“I think I can understand that…” Dean offered, having had the same sentiment just a week prior. Guilt was a bitch.

“I’m going to go make some more coffee.” Kevin stood, grabbed his cup and made for the kitchen. At the arch of the library he stopped and turned to Dean. “Want some?”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Bean me up, Scotty.” His cheesy smiled spread but they did not breach the weariness of his eyes. The prophet shook his head at the tacky pun and left the hunter and demon alone.

“ ‘Bean me up, Scotty?’ “ Crowley repeated with unhindered revulsion. “What are you, ten?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m uncaffeinated.”

“That’s what you lads call being unhinged nowadays?” Crowley smirked into his glass, finishing the last of the amber liquid.

“Shut up.” Corner of Dean’s lips twitched at the exchange as he braced his elbows atop the table.

“The second trial, Squirrel, is going to be the most difficult.” Crowley diffused the odd familiarity between the two by reverting back to planning.

“How so?” He asked but Dean had a feeling he already knew.

“Well, for starters, we have to go to Hell.” Crowley stared off at something that Dean could not see. “Seeing as I’ve been dethroned, it won’t be a cakewalk like it was for Moose.”

Dean resisted the urge to fight Crowley on that. It hadn’t been much of a walk in the park. Or had he forgotten their door into Hell was through Purgatory?

“I can only assume you have other ways into Hell that don’t require a stroll through Monsterland?” Dean quirked a brow up at Crowley, who nodded slowly; hesitantly.

“Of course I do. I was the bloody King of Hell.” Crowley’s own tenacious posture built up, he cast Dean a wary look. “That being said…”

“All the doors are probably guarded by Abbadon’s mooks now.”

“And they said Moose was the smart one.” Crowley teased but without his usual callous.

Dean ignored the remark and pondered his own misgivings about trial number two. “Even if we could get into Hell…what about a soul? An innocent soul?”

“After your Mr. Singer, I’m fresh out. That was a one-time deal.” Crowley shrugged as he stood, walked over to the decanter and poured the rest of the scotch into his glass.

Dean began to wonder if the trials were meant to be attempted only the one time. Made sense. If completed correctly, and after the ultimate sacrifice, the gates would be sealed. No need for a rinse and repeat.

Until he went and fucked things up.

“I do have a spot of good news, though.” Crowley turned to face Dean again, the glass already raised to his lips.

Dean listed his head to the side, eyeing the other with squinted eyes. When Crowley did not go into detail, Dean opened his eyes wide and rolled his head around in a small circle, saying without words ‘care to elaborate?’

“Assuming Abbadon has kept with the protocols of Hell, there is a ledger we keep that details every soul that enters, why they’re there and what their Hell-Spa years will entail.”

“Considering keeping innocent souls is illegal, would that be in your little black book?” Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Illegal to whom? Besides, efficiency is key. I liked to keep track of things.” Crowley’s smirk irritated the hunter. “But…”

“Abbadon isn’t a bureaucrat.” Dean finished for him.

“Unfortunately.” Crowley nodded and resumed his seat. “She’s all about the chaos, less about the finer details.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I highly doubt she’s going to care about your old filing system, Crowley.” Voice edging on anger, Dean rubbed his face with both hands, trying to keep his calm.

“While that may be true, if I can get into Hell, I can find out if there are any new souls that shouldn’t be there.” A hint of defensiveness peaked in the demon’s demeanor.

“How?” Skepticism abounds.

“Before I was the King of Hell, I was King of the Crossroads. I have my ways.” And Crowley left it at that.

Dean startled as a steaming cup of coffee was set down in the limited empty space in front of him. He started to look up but Kevin had already moved back to his seat.

“None of that is going to do us any good if we can’t get Heaven open.” The prophet pointed out. “Rescuing an innocent soul is only the first part of the trial.”

Dean rolled his head backwards.

“We have to get it into Heaven to complete it. Yeah. I know.” The hunter unintentionally let his shoulders sink as he looked back down at the table, grabbing his coffee and taking a small sip.

“Back to square one.” Kevin agreed without the others directly saying what they were all thinking.

“We need to deal with Metatron first. Then the trials.” Crowley seemed a bit too pleased at the prospect for Dean to feel comfortable with where his head might be at.

“I can’t tell if you’re re-nigging on our deal or if you’re just thrilled that your hounds get to live another day…” Dean cautiously brought his concern forward. The demon smiled and took another long sip of his drink.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

_Yeah, I really would…_Dean was getting agitated. At Crowley. At the trials. At Metatron. At Cass for not taking care of himself. And at himself for letting it all get so messed up in the first place.

“Alright. We wait for Cass to be conscious again and then we start working towards this spell.” Dean spoke as he rose, ready to take Baby out for some exercise.

* * *

Sam had been fighting himself for over a week now. A week? Or a month? He couldn’t tell here. There was no sense of time. In the event that the sun rose or set, the days stayed as long as he deemed necessary. And since most of the time he was trying to prevent a myriad of horrors from materializing in front of him, the days stayed pretty consistent. As in, no night time at all.

Acting as if he were a child yet again, he kept to the light; knowing it would protect him.

It really didn’t.

The first time Lucifer appeared, Sam had been sitting at a park bench on Stanford’s campus. He’d kept his current age and appearance, but he used to go there to think when things started to go south. This was before Jessica, of course. With the exception of Dean’s sudden arrival and her heart-wrenching death…after she came into his life, his troubles were few and far between. Still, he feared bringing her into his mind. She was in Heaven.

He didn’t want to drag her into his Hell.

Nick, the vessel Lucifer had before taking a ride in Sammy’s skull, walked up as casually as would a stranger wanting to take a seat. And he did. Sam hadn’t ever had anyone sit next to him in his memories so the shifting of weight and the accompanying groan of wood took him by surprise.

His hazel eyes widened. Sucking in air, he stumbled off the opposite side of the bench, falling onto his ass and crab-walking backwards. Lucifer smiled.

Sam hated that damned smile.

“Oh, come on, Sam! Is that a way to treat your old cellmate?” Nick – Lucifer – stood and slowly inched his way towards the babbling Winchester.

“No! You aren’t here. You can’t be here. This is just in my head.” Sam closed his eyes tight and reopened them. Nothing had changed.

“Of course this is just in your head, you’re d-e-a-d!” Lucifer sang the last word like it was sweetest thing he had ever heard. “Took you long enough.”

Sam attempted to stand, his hands grasping at whatever he could around him to assist. There was nothing. Looking around he could see…nothing. Except Lucifer in front of him. In the shadowy darkness of the “slate”, as he had come to call the vast black empty, the brilliant glow of the devil’s red eyes was illuminating.

“I gotta say, Sam. I am surprised that you made this decision all on your own! I thought big brother usually frowned on you taking dirt naps?” Lucifer tilted his head, plastering a faux pouty look on his face.

“Guess you must have finally pushed him over the edge, huh? Annoyed Dean with that ever-present self-pity you carry around. “Poor me! I have demon blood! My daddy was mean to me! My girlfriend died! I wanna go to college! I got locked up with the devil!. Blah blah blah, yada yada yada…” Lucifer shivered, scrunching up his face at his own words. “You complain a lot. And I should know. I’ve spent time in that dense cranium of yours….”

Sam had collected himself enough to stand and at some point during Lucifer’s tirade, found his center. He knew this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Even if Lucifer had managed to escape the cage, Death wouldn’t let him anywhere near here…especially after the temper tantrum he’d thrown over God and the leash he’d previously had on the horseman.

“Sounds familiar, if you ask me. Didn’t you sing the same tune when Daddy kicked you out of Heaven and sent your ass to Hell?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and bore into Lucifer’s. Squaring up against Lucifer on even playing ground was extremely satisfying after the Hell he’d been put through in the cage and the several months he’d still been under his thrall.

“Poor Lucifer. Daddy loves his new toys more than his supposed favorite son.” The Winchester laughed and started to turn away. “You’re a joke…”

In that instant, he regretted his hubris. Lucifer appeared before him, not even an inch from his face. “You weren’t saying that in the Cage.” His fist clenched and Sam found himself on his knees, an invisible knife turning and tearing its way through his insides. “And you won’t be saying that here.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the whole of the slate was covered in frost, the air taking on the icy daggers that now penetrated Sam’s gut. He couldn’t breathe through the cold; each breath slicing through his windpipe. Tears froze on his cheeks, burning away his flesh beneath them. The massive figure of the man crumbled to the ground completely, blood flowing from his lips, ears and eyes. The warm, sticky liquid froze, effectively blinding him.

“This place is what you make of it, Sammy Boy.” Lucifer’s voice was drenched with the smugness that Sam knew was on his face without even looking at it. “And right now, you are what _I_ make of you.”

His senses fell apart under the assault. Except his touch. He could still feel pain. And his tolerance was being surpassed.

“Told you there could always be a new 10….”

Sam’s scream echoed throughout and drowned out the velvety laugh of the Devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~A/N: Filler chapter whilst I work out this spell they have cooking. Between a new group project outside of this, school and life, it may be a awhile before a new chapter is birthed. I *am* workin' on it, though. Thanks for the patience! **Frag**~


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